


Craving

by Clarounette



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) RPF
Genre: M/M, Pre-Slash, slight AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-15
Updated: 2012-02-15
Packaged: 2017-10-31 06:17:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/340869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Clarounette/pseuds/Clarounette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>James tries to stop smoking. It's not so easy with Michael around.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Craving

**Author's Note:**

> Slight AU because James isn't married.  
> Written for Fassavoy Fortnightly 4 on LJ.

Two weeks. Only two weeks. It felt like an eternity.  
It was a bad habit, and very bad for his health. But the decision wasn't easy. James needed an incentive, or a good reason. When Vaughn came to him to talk about the First Class sequel, he thought it was as good a reason as any to stop smoking. At least he would be in good health to... sit in a wheelchair, okay. But still.

And so, three days before the production's first meeting, he smoked his last cigarette. He savored it. It didn't last long enough, but he relished it.  
Two weeks later, he missed the taste of it on his tongue, the slight burn whenever the smoke went through his nose. He missed the feeling of the stick between his fingers. Moreover, he missed the first cigarette of the day, just after his coffee – the one he would enjoy while looking outside, people running around like ants in the street below. He also missed the one he would always smoke while drinking a beer at the end of a long and tiring day. Why was it so difficult to fight this addiction? Because he always associated it with quiet and pleasurable moments.  
How many days would it take to stop craving for a cigarette? To stop trying to fish his pack in the pocket of his jacket when there wasn't one anymore? He didn't know, and it annoyed him immensely.

For now they were still working on the script, he, Matthew and Michael. Damn Michael.  
They spent the morning rewriting part of the dialogues. Honestly, there was only so many jokes about Charles' hair you could stand before you wanted to stab the writers in the guts with their own pen.  
They were having a short break. At this time of the year, the little garden behind the studio was beautiful. While shooting the first movie, the whole cast used to have lunch here when the weather was warm, sitting on the grass, eating sandwiches and salads. They had enjoyed the fresh air.  
So when Michael had needed a smoke, he had gone to the garden. And James had followed him – they ought to talk about Charles and Erik's relationship in the sequel.  
Once outside, Michael didn't hesitate long before picking a cigarette in his pocket. He offered one to James. James refused, of course, but god, was it hard.  
Nonplussed, Michael put the stick between his lips anyway. The cigarette was dangling from the corner of his mouth, going up and down with each of Michael's word. The man was still talking, but damn if James knew what he was saying. He was hypnotised by his friend's long slender fingers playing with the silver lighter he had offered him as a gift for Christmas. Then Michael lit his cigarette, the tip of the stick burning red for a second. Eyes half closed, the Irish man tasted what was his first cigarette of the day.  
"Seems quite good" Michael said, exhaling a thin tendril of smoke.  
"Yes, quite good..." James responded in a whisper. He was watching with rapture the white translucent cloud growing around his friend's head. He was sure the tobacco was extremely good, and what would he have done to have just a taste of it. His hand was already moving on its own volition, trying to reach the stick and snatch it from the other man, and James had to fight the impulse.  
Michael raised a questioning eyebrow. At that, James realised his friend wasn't praising his cigarette at all. What were they talking about, already?  
Michael read his confusion on his face and laughed. "The script, James." His nostrils flared, milky white smoke flowing from his nose. A human dragon. Michael was a fucking human dragon. James shook his head once. No distraction, he had a work to do after all.  
"Oh, yes. The film will be interesting."  
They discussed their characters' dynamic for about ten minutes, James' eyes more often than not following the movements of the cigarette or watching clouds of smoke escaping from his friend's mouth. Then Michael threw the butt in the grass, crushing it under his heel. "We should go back to the meeting room." James agreed, and they entered the building.

It was quite possible that Michael understood that he was trying to stop smoking without James telling him so. Whenever he needed a smoke, the older man would sneak his way outside, trying his best not to let James notice him. And if James accompanied him, he would ignore the pack in his pocket and wait for a better time to light a cigarette. The agreement was left unspoken, and James was grateful to have such a good friend.  
They were in the middle of pre production now. Every role had been cast. The costumes were ready, the sets too. The script was mostly finished, even though everybody knew there would be some rewriting at one point. That was Vaughn for you: never satisfied, always aiming for the best.  
But they all needed some time off, and Matthew planned a little party. He wanted the new cast and the old one to connect, needed to be sure there was some chemistry between all the actors and actresses. That's why they were all in the private room of a famous restaurant, quiet music playing in the background. A big buffet was waiting for them, and a young bartender was serving cocktails at a large table.  
James was talking with Vaughn's assistant, but his mind wandered. At the other end of the room, Michael was sitting on a sofa, surrounded by young women. The restaurant seemed smokers-friendly, or maybe Michael didn't give a fuck, because he had a cigar between his fingers. No doubt he had no idea that James could see him, or he wouldn't dare.  
James was too far away to hear what he was saying but it made the girls laugh. Michael, grinning, raised the cigar to his mouth. He sucked on the brown cylinder, hollowing his cheeks. James couldn't take his eyes off him. Michael exhaled swirls of smoke and breathed them again through his nose. One of the girls around Michael waved a hand, dissipating the white cloud that surrounded them. James wanted to slap the bitch. He needed to join Michael on the sofa. Desperatly. At least he would have a whiff of the cigar's smell. He could almost taste it on his tongue, just looking at his friend enjoying it.  
Michael may have sensed James staring at him, because he suddenly looked at the younger man, the cigar still between his lips. James read the shame in the grey-blue eyes, the guilt he was feeling. It didn't take long for Michael to crush his cigar in an ashtray, never looking back at James. The girls seemed pleased, undoubtedly thinking he had done that for them.  
Under James' astonished gaze, Michael resumed his conversation.

Two months now. Resisting the urge to light a stick was becoming less and less difficult. Four days ago, James even allowed Michael to smoke near him.  
"It doesn't bother me anymore" he told his friend. That was a lie but he needed to know if he could stand being with a smoker without craving for his cigarette. Some kind of test he wanted to pass. But up to now, Michael didn't dare to light a smoke in his presence.  
It was raining today. James was a bit depressed by the dull grey sky and the puddles of water everywhere on the streets. They couldn't even go to the garden and were stucked in a gloomy room at break time. Michael was shifting nervously in his seat, fingers drumming on his armchair.  
James recognised the signs: his friend longed for a cigarette, but he resisted the temptation. For his sake, he just knew it. The attention was moving, really, but seeing Michael so nervous was making him nervous too.  
"Michael, go ahead, I don't care" he said.  
"What are you talking about?" Michael asked. Really, the guy was clueless.  
"I know you have a pack in the right pocket of your vest. You don't need to be so careful around me." With a huge smile, James tapped on his own chest, like he was Tarzan or something. "I'm stronger than that."  
But still Michael wouldn't do anything. It was grating on James' nerves.  
He sighed and walked up to his friend. He fished the pack of smoke and the lighter, lit a cigarette and put it in Michael's mouth. "Now stop being a jerk, please" James said with a smile, before taking a few steps back.  
Returning to his senses, Michael pulled on his cigarette. His eyes rolled back in his head and he moaned. There was so much pleasure written on his face that James couldn't react at first. He stared at his friend, and envy washed over him. It shouldn't have this effect on him, not after two months of abstinence.  
Michael took the stick between his thumb and his forefinger. He inhaled once again then removed the cigarette from his lips, the acrid smoke invading his lungs. He looked up at the ceiling, a look of pure extasy on his face.  
James couldn't resist anymore. He waited for his friend to start blowing, and jumped on him. Michael was too stunned to react and he let James sit on his lap, straddling his thighs, breathing the smoke from between his lips. Before long, a surge of lust clouded Michael's thoughts. He kissed James, devouring his mouth.  
James didn't even realise what was happening. He could only relish the smell of tobacco on Michael's skin, the light taste of ash on the roof of his mouth. But when the smoke was completely gone, the taste of Michael – and only Michael – wasn't so bad either, and he kept kissing his friend.

Their relationship eventually evolved from there.  
And James never smoked again. Tobacco tasted better on Michael's tongue anyway.


End file.
